


To Find a Liar

by Russica



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Death, Demon Deals, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Not a Crossover, Reincarnation, lying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 16:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russica/pseuds/Russica
Summary: Greg Lestrade's life starts out hard. Alone and in the streets he makes a deal with the devil, so to speak, and gains the uncanny ability to see when someone is lying. Through a curse, some screwed up paperwork, and a bored King, Greg gets the chance to do it all again... and again... and again.. until he finds someone to break the cycle.





	To Find a Liar

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again everyone! Welcome to my next multichapter experiment! I've been on a Supernatural binge and this idea has been rattling around for a while. Mentions to Supernatural only in how demons work and Crowley, in chapter 1. No plans, just winging it this time.
> 
> Important notes: In this story, Greg is 14 years older than Sherlock and 6 years older than Mycroft. The starting year is based off ACD His Last Bow where Sherlock is 60 and the year is 1914, I figure Greg makes it to 75 (RIP 1915) so born sometime in 1840. Reborn in 1965 puts Greg at 35 when he meets new Sherlock at 21 in 2000, 45 at ASiP 2010.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

One cold evening in the year 1853, a young boy wraps himself tightly in a threadbare blanket. The boy shivers as he tries to coax a fire to life in the damp air. His dirty brown hair hangs in unkempt strands over his too thin face, his tanned skin covered in a layer of grime. He moves a box to better insulate his small fire, his stomach grumbling loudly. The boy grimaces as he pulls the thin blanket tighter around his equally thin frame.

"What I'd give for somethin' to eat" he mumbles as he stares into the flames.

"What would you give?"

The boy snaps around, already on his feet and ready to run. A shadowy figure strolls languidly towards him through the fog. The boy takes a step back, his movements slow on the wet cobblestone.

"No need to run boy, I'm only asking a question."

"Who are you? What d'you want?"

"It's not what I want, rather," the figure steps into view, a lithe man with sharp features and blonde hair. His white shirt and trousers are offset by his black tail coat, tie, and shoes. He rests his hand on a silver cane. "What you want."

"I... why do you care?"

"Dear me, no, I'm doing this for perfectly selfish reasons my boy. I've got a certain quota to meet and I couldn't help but hear your plight. Come now Gregory, what is it you want in life?"

"How do you know my name?" He stares in shock as the man comes closer.

"I tell you now that who I am and how I come by my information is inconsequential. You need only know that I can help you get what you want." The man taps his cane near Greg's small fire, causing it to blaze brighter. "Everything in life has a price my boy, now, what is it you want?"

Greg stares at the blazing fire, feeling the warmth beat back the chill of the fog. The man waits patiently, his body unusually still. Greg studies him for a moment, his suit is clean despite the dirty streets and damp air, his hair is laid over perfectly as well. His whole look says he should be at some ball or another and brushing elbows with the upperclass. Greg sits back down on a crate, relishing in the new warmth.

"What do you want from me?"

"Something you won't even miss, my boy."

"I can ask... for anything?"

"Anything you want."

Greg stares at the flames. "I want to know when people are lying. I want to see the truth when they lie, unless it's a good lie." Greg looks to the man. "You know, like getting sweets or your favorite supper, a good lie for a good surprise."

"That's quite a wish for such a young man."

"My dad lied. My mum lied. The horrid people at the factory lied. I hate a liar." Greg spits into the fire, it sizzles faintly. "I bet you're lying too."

"I understand your wariness Gregory, but I tell only the truth. All you have to do is sign _this_ , and you'll have your wish. I promise you that."

Greg looks over at the very old parchment and, ridiculous, feathered pen the man offers to him. The top of the paper says " _Contract_ " in beautiful swirling calligraphy. He takes the pen and paper and slowly starts reading over the contract.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to read this. My mum taught me to read when I was a lad and I've swiped a few papers to read."

"Very well I'll just cut that short. It says that in exchange for your mortal soul upon your, inevitable, demise, you gain the ability to know when people are lying."

"My soul? Bollocks."

Greg stands, intent on throwing the paper into the fire. The man's cane snaps hard against Greg's chest, he turns to tell him off but clicks his mouth shut. The man smiles, his previously normal eyes now an unnatural black.

"Now, Gregory, why don't you have a seat and reconsider." Greg sits and the man removes his cane. "I have a job to do and you have a need to be fulfilled, this agreement is mutually beneficial."

"You were trying to trick me."

"Yes yes, I'm a demon, boy, deceit isn't something high on my list of things I really care about. Besides, I freelance, no pesky rules from his majesty to restrict me to boring adults with boring problems." The man huffs as he leans against a wall. "Do we have a deal or not? I can find 10 other urchins just like you who would be more than willing to trade their souls for a hot meal or a place to stay."

"You're really... a demon?"

"Yes."

"Can you prove it? Besides the..." Greg points hesitantly to his own eyes.

"Why not?"

The man's head flys back, his arms and legs spreading to keep balance as his spine bends as well. A plume of what looks like black smoke pours from the man's mouth into the night air. The smoke pulses and swirls briefly before seeming to be sucked back into the man's body. Greg blinks in shock as the man wipes his mouth and straightens his clothes.

"Convinced?"

Greg nods frantically.

"Good. Do we have a deal?"

Greg looks at the paper in his lap. "Just my soul? I can live a normal life without it?"

"Think of it as a promise," he examines the head of his cane absently. "You get your wish and when you die, then you make your payment for it. You can be a perfectly boring human for however long you live."

Greg nods slowly as he carefully signs the line at the bottom of the paper. The red ink surprises Greg but before he can process it the paper and pen disappear in a plume of smoke. He blinks in surprise as the man holds out of his hand, he shakes it numbly.

"Glad to do business with you Gregory, be glad I do everything by paper."

Greg wants to ask what he means, but the man is gone. He glances around but only thick fog surrounds him. He pulls his blanket tighter and moves closer to his slowly dying fire, unsure of what exactly just happened.

* * *

When Greg wakes up the next day he feels... exactly the same. He's not quite sure how he should be feeling, or if he should be feeling anything at all. Some part of him thinks maybe everything he witnessed the previous night were just visions due to hunger or exhaustion. He goes out into the bleary London morning to start his day of scavenging and begging. He doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary at first, people bustling around and paying him little mind as usual. A woman glances his way and Greg smiles.

"Spare some change miss?"

"Ehm, sorry dear, nothing on me today."

Greg keeps his smile even though red words are now floating next to the woman's head. _'Doesn't like children.'_  As she walks away Greg rubs his eyes. He spends his morning listening to people talk and watching in fascination as red words spell out their lies. Nothing as straight forward it seems. A man told another that his wife had been quite ill, the text simply said _'With the chauffeur'_ , Greg wasn't quite sure on that one. A woman tells a man she loves him, _'And his best mate, and his brother'_ , Greg tries not to snicker. He decides to use his new way of seeing to find a job. He sneaks into his old orphanage to steal a quick bath and some clean clothes before darting back into the streets. He manages to finagle a job with a wealthy couple as an errand boy, arguing that he can keep a log of his travel when the red words say * _Thieves the lot of em.'_  Greg works hard, saves every bit of money he can earn and joins as a constable at 16.

Greg's life is a blur of violence and hunger and work. His nights are long as he patrols the streets for almost nothing and meets more derision from the public than he did as a begging urchin. He manages a very cheap flat for several years until he makes a name for himself. He meets Sherlock Holmes for the first time at the age of 35, the man had already built a rather notable career for himself as a private detective. He shows up and calls them all perfectly adequate if not conventional. Gregson loves to work with the man, his sharp witticisms seeming to fly over his head. Greg finds the man to be an insufferable know it all, he himself suffering blows to his ego at Holmes sharp tongue... But dammit if he isn't brilliant; and he's not one to lie. Greg can't help but smile when Holmes insane deductions come without a follow up of red text. While he becomes rather renowned with the Yard, and every Inspector and constable worth their snuff respects the man, none more so than Greg. In a profession where violence and deception run rampant, it's refreshing to see someone so open. When Holmes begins to bring around a Doctor Watson, Greg is hopeful that the ex army man will bring some kind of temperance to Holmes antics. How wrong he found himself to be in that. The man turns out to be just as insane as Holmes, dashing off at a moments notice to chase down criminals. He takes mild offense when Dr. Watson describes him as weasley in more than one publication of his many adventures. Greg does count his blessings that he and Gregson find more time to focus on their own work, what with the private clientele thanks in part to Dr. Watson's publications.

Sherlock Holmes retires in 1904, to the Sussex country side, as a beekeeper no less. Greg barely gives a second though when Dr. Watson joins him, continuing to publish their old cases. Greg is, and always has been, of the opinion that, despite his previous marriages, Dr. Watson and Holmes had always been confirmed bachelors. Not that Greg had never been one to judge, what with his soul set for damnation and all. He visits them once, lets the country air revitalize his worn soul. He jokes with Holmes, 60 years old and raising bees. He prods Watson for stories of Holmes getting stung. The week is restful and he feels better than he has in years. The two seem happy, bickering and puttering around. Holmes still smokes his awful pipe and Watson still writes. Greg thinks of them often before he slips into that final sleep in 1915.

* * *

 

Greg is... surprised, to wake back up in a rather dark room. Very nice, black walls, grey carpeting, dark wood desk with a chair waiting for him, and behind the desk a man. The man appears to be of average size, with a slightly round face and dark hair, his suit appears silky in the dull light, offset only by a deep blue tie. His hands are clasped on the desk over a folder.

"Gregory Lestrade, have a seat won't you?"

Greg approaches slowly and slides into the chair waiting for him. "This is hell? Are you the devil then?" His voice is different, younger.

"Yes and no," the man shrugs. "The name's Crowley, Hell has been under... new management per se, for some time."

Greg hums, unsure if a response is really expected. "So what happens now?"

"Well, usually you'd be in the process of being horribly tortured for the rest of eternity. However," Crowley flips open his file and glances at it. "You made a deal with a  _freelancer_ " he says the word with clear disdain. "So your deal wasn't properly documented."

"Right, said I should be glad he did everything on paper."

"Well, Hell hasn't done paper contracts in ages. Unreliable, and the backup is horrendous, really. Crossroad demons seal their deals with a kiss. Marks the soul immediately and gives us a tally when they return." Crowley pulls out another folder. "You put away a few nasty men in your day, pissed a few off too. One James Gillian traded his soul to curse you to be reincarnated with all your memories. Not bad, you'll know you're stuck in an eternal loop, no peace with the next incarnation."

Greg silently watches Crowley flip through the seemingly endless file.

"Humans can't handle that kind of memory you see. You'd go insane. He was rather vague with his wording so we're gonna have you repeat your life so to speak. A new year, a new set of circumstances, but the same players. You'll remember major life moments in your new existences, and this conversation." Crowley pins him with a smile. "Your end of the contract can't be fulfilled, I'm a fair king though, you can keep on being a human lie detector for no charge."

"Don't forget how he may escape the reincarnation cycle."

Crowley winces as a gaunt man in a black suit appears at his side. Greg feels a sense of peace surrounding the man, like a whisper of a promise of something better.

"Right. All you have to do is find the person in your timeline who can lie to you. I'll even give you a bonus, your little lie detector will be a nice orange or yellow instead of red. Happy?" He cuts his eyes to the gaunt man, idly brushing invisible dirt off his suit.

"Satisfactory, I don't appreciate your minions interfering with my work. Reincarnation is a specialized reapers job, not something for an inattentive demon to trade away. I trust this matter is handled."

Without another word the man disappears and Crowley releases a breath, his cheeks puffing slightly. "Anyways, it's about time to get going Gregory. You'll be reliving some years, meeting the same people, blah blah blah, don't think about it too hard and things should be fine."

"Do I have to go back right where I left off? Can I be born later?"

"Why?"

"Well, if I am just reliving my life, the only thing changing being the years I'm living, I should like to see what the next century holds for the world. I would rather enjoy making it well into the 21st century this first go around. After that I don't think I would mind going back to be born in good old London in my current century." Greg laughs softly. "This all seems quite ridiculous and I can't quite believe I'm having this conversation, with a demon no less."

Crowley stands and Greg follows his lead. "New century for the esteemed Inspector, consider me a big fan."

Crowley extends a hand and Greg clasps it, his vision goes black.

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? I live for your comments!
> 
> Any mistakes are my own, just hit me up.
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> 8/20/18 Story on a temp hiatus due to personal reasons, will be back when I can. Apologies :(


End file.
